Joe began to prepare supper for the three who had searched so long and distractedly for Dol that they confessed to not having eaten for hours.  While more venison was being cooked, the juveniles, American and English, who had been secretly taking stock of each other, cast aside restraint, and became as “chummy” as if they had been acquainted for years instead of hours.

Such a carnival of fun and noise was started through their combined efforts in the old log camp, that its owner declared he “couldn’t hear himself think.”  Seizing his horn, he blew a blast which called for order.

“Say, my boy, let me have a look at your feet,” he said, cornering Dol.  “A deer-road isn’t a king’s highway, as I dare say you’ve found out to your cost.  Pull off your moccasins and socks, and let me doctor your poor trotters.”

Young Farrar very gladly did as he was bidden.

“Humph!” said his friend.  “I thought so.  They’re a mass of bruises and blisters.  You’ve been pretty well branded, son.  Moccasins aren’t much use to protect the feet from roots and sharp stones, if you happen to strike a bad place in forest travelling, unless you have taken the precaution to put double soles in them; didn’t you know that?  Now, Cyrus Garst,” turning to the student, “you’re all going to camp with us to-night.  This lad can’t tramp any more.  As a doctor I forbid it.”

“Are you a doctor, sir?” questioned Dol, with a thrill of surprise, which he managed to conceal.

“Something of the kind, boy,” answered his host, smiling.  “I don’t look much like a city physician, do I?  I graduated from a medical college in Philadelphia, and took my degree.  But I had an enthusiasm for the woods.  One hour of forest life in dear old Maine was to me worth a year spent amid streets, alleys, and sky-scraping buildings; so I fixed my headquarters at Greenville, and have spent most of my time in the wilderness.”

“Where every trapper, guide, and lumberman knows Dr. Phil Buck, whom they disrespectfully and affectionately call ‘Doc,’” put in Cyrus.  “And many a poor fellow owes his life or limbs to Doc’s knowledge and nursing in some hard time of sickness, or after one of the dreadful accidents common in the forests.”

Dol could well understand this; for he now was benefiting by Dr. Phil’s lively desire to relieve suffering, and was silently breathing blessings on his head.  The doctor had bathed his puffy feet in warm water taken from Joe’s camp-kettle, and was anointing them with a healing salve, after which he tucked them into a loose pair of slippers of his own.  Meanwhile, he chatted pleasantly.

“This isn’t the first time that your friend Cyrus and I have run against each other in the wilds,” he said, “nor the first time that we’ve camped together, either.  Bless you! we could make you jump with some of our stories.  Do you remember that night in ’89, Cy, when you, with your guide, came upon me lying under a rough shelter of bark and spruce boughs, which I had rigged up for myself near Roaring Brook, on the side of Mount Katahdin?”